


Just A Number

by xfandomwritingsx



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, F/M, No explicit smut, POV Second Person, Reader Insert, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 04:20:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16847017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xfandomwritingsx/pseuds/xfandomwritingsx
Summary: After returning to Beacon Hills, you and Coach grow closer, but he's hesitant because of the age difference.





	Just A Number

**Author's Note:**

> I’m ignoring the whole Coach is maybe kind of supposed to be an alcoholic thing in this. Just FYI. Also this should really be a much longer and more detailed story but… it is what it is.
> 
> Edited Note: This is another story brought over from my Tumblr. You're going to be seeing a few of these since I fear Tumblr will be no more soon.

You watch Bobby from across the field, trying not to look up too often from your textbook sitting heavily on your lap. He’s flustered and yelling at the kids on the field, sweat beading down his face, starting to mat down his hair. You’re trying to focus on your book, focus on the last chapter of biology so you can finish your final paper and email it back to your college professor before you’re the deadline.

You’d left school early for the summer so you could make it back in time for your internship to start back in Beacon Hills. The high school had given you a small, unpaid internship to help assist and cover some of the summer classes. You took it over your other offers because this is where you want to be. It’s home. And it still looks good on a resume so why not.

Tomorrow is your first official day on the job and while you were supposed to be here to do prep work, you found yourself drawn to the lacrosse field where Bobby was yelling new players into submission. Of course, that’s probably because this morning, when you slinked out of his house, you could barely walk straight.

You had gone out to the bar last night, just to relax, still enjoying the novelty of being _allowed_ in a bar. You two saw each other from across the room and had smiled politely. You both finished your drinks and ignored one another. You were actually planning on taking off after that, going home and studying, but the bartender put another drink in front of you. 

“From the guy in the corner,” he told you, pointing back to Coach Finstock. You looked back at him and he tilted his beer at you in greeting. You bit your lip, briefly contemplating what you wanted to do before grabbing your free drink and walking over to his table.

You two caught up rather quickly. You told him about how college was going and he told you about all the crazy and how kids get dumber every year. One drink turned into two turned into three and suddenly your hand was on his forearm, grabbing onto it while you laughed with him. His hand grasped your knee under the table and you didn’t even want to blame the alcohol for the warm rush you got. The laughter stopped, but neither of your hands moved away from each other. Instead, your fingers started gently running up and down his arm and his hand started inching higher on your thigh.

One more drink and you were pushed up against the brick wall outside on the side of the bar, his lips on yours and his hands under your shirt. You kept pawing at him, trying to feel more of him, grinding your hips into his.

You managed to make it back to his place and honestly you don’t really recall if you walked or took a cab. You just remember his hand on your ass and how his thigh muscle felt in your palm. You made it though. You made it into his house and barely to his bed before he was fucking you.

You were both drunk, but you weren’t sloppy. It didn’t feel like drunken sex. It felt hot and vivid and damn good. There were dirty words you gave each other, whispered then screamed. You went between calling him Bobby and Coach Finstock and you really couldn’t tell which one turned him on more.

He made you cum, made you cry out his name, and almost see black for a few moments. He kissed along your neck as you recovered before you flipped him on his back and took him in your mouth. You sucked him off, looking up at him as he watched you, his face contorted in pleasure until you felt him pulse against your tongue and short bursts of hot cum jetted into your mouth. You swallowed it all, enjoying the way his hand fisted into your hair.

You both cleaned up and fell back into bed, still unable to keep your hands and lips off of each other. You made out like teenagers until the fuzzy sleepiness took over. 

When you woke up this morning, there was a note that simply read:

NO FOOD IN HOUSE. OR COFFEE. LOCK DOOR WHEN YOU LEAVE. 

Not romantic in the least. Slightly insulting actually. It’s not like you hadn’t had one night stands before, but not with someone you _knew_. You fully expected some kind of awkward talk about what it all meant. And if you were honest, you wouldn’t mind a couple repeat experiences.

You’ve ignored him all day, made it easy for him to avoid you, but now you’re sitting on the bleachers and every time you look up at him, he’s looking back. His eyes shift away quickly and you can tell he’s uneasy with you there. So when practice is over, you close your textbook (which you’re pretty sure you’ve only read two pages of) and cross the field to talk to him.

“Hey,” you greet casually. He barely glances up from his clipboard, writing down notes and doing everything to avoid you. “Bobby.” He cringes when you say his name.

“Coach Finstock,” he corrects quickly. “You should call me Coach Finstock.” He purses his lips and then adds, “Like all the other kids.” That stops you. It actually feels like a little pin prick right to your gut. It’s small and pointy and surprisingly painful.

“Kids?” You can’t keep the shock from your tone. He straightens up with a new, forced confidence in him.

“Yeah, because that’s what you are,” he tells you sharply. “You’re a kid.” Your skin prickles and you tilt your head defensively.

“I’m twenty-one years old. I’m getting ready to finish college. You slept with me last night.” You’re prepared to keep going, but he stops you.

“You’re young. Too young.” He squints his eyes, looking towards the sun so he can stop looking at you. “You can just forget about last night.”

And just like that, he’s walking away, brushing his shoulder roughly against yours and ending any hope of a conversation. Your mouth hangs open as you turn to watch him leave. You’re not sure if you’re hurt, shocked, or angered by him at that moment.

—

You try to talk to him futilely two more times in the next week, but he shoots you down and walks away again. You give up after that. Fuck him if he doesn’t want anything to do with you. You have better things to worry about than if your old high school teacher wants to screw you or not.

You still see him. You both teach during the same days and it’s hard not to run into each other. For the most part, you try to ignore each other. Once in a while though, you catch him looking at you. You offer smiles, but he instantly looks elsewhere.

After a particularly rough day with the kids, you find yourself back at the bar. You hop up onto the barstool and order something strong, practically tossing your credit card at the bartender. A slim hand darts out and snatches you card off the bar, handing it back to you.

“Her drink’s on me, Ryan,” a voice says besides you. You follow the hand up to its owner and see Stiles sitting next to you. “Tough day?” A wide smile instantly breaks out on your face at seeing your old friend.

“Oh my god,” you laugh. “What are you doing here?” You wrap your arms around his neck and he laughs with you, returning the hug.

“Came home for the summer!” he explains, his mouth right by your ear. Your gaze falls back into the corner of the bar and you see Bobby sitting there. He’s sipping a beer and watching you intently. You blink away and pull back from Stiles. “Take it you did the same?” Stiles’ voice snaps you back to him.

“Yeah, yeah I’m working at the high school this summer.” He smiles widely at you.

“That’s what you always wanted right? Way to go!” He lifts his hand for high-five, causing you to laugh some more. Maybe this is just what you need right now; an old friend and some good laughs.

You and Stiles share a drink together, catching up and reminiscing. You’re keenly aware of Bobby’s eyes on you the whole time though. You try to ignore him. You even try to change the angle of your seat so you can’t see each other, but no matter which way you turn, it doesn’t work. He watches you closely, especially when Stiles touches you or gets close to you in any way.

Eventually, Stiles has to take off. Neither of you really want to part ways, both having a good time, but he has some kind of meeting early in the morning and, even though it’s a slight surprise to find out, Stiles has gotten some sense of maturity and wants to get to bed at a decent hour. You give each other one more hug before he leaves.

Once Stiles exits, you glance over at Bobby only to find him gone. You’re not sure when he left, but he’s definitely gone. His coat is no longer on his chair and there are a couple of bills on the table to cover his tab. You’re more disappointed than you want to admit.

You gather your things, tip the bartender, and leave the bar. You pause when you get outside to put your sweater on, the air temperature dropping just enough to give you that chill on your shoulders. As you’re adjusting the way it hangs on you, a voice startles you.

“Stilinski always had a crush on you.” You look over to see Bobby leaning against the bar wall, looking out into the street. His voice has a slightly bitter tone to it.

“So?” you bite back at him.

“Didn’t like him for you then,” he says casually, shrugging his shoulders and stuffing his hands in his pockets. “ _Really_ don’t like him for you now.” You take a step towards him and he turns his head to you.

“Why not?” you ask. Bobby groans and pushes himself off the wall almost reluctantly. He takes a few steps towards you, breathing heavily and getting into your personal space. You hate the way he makes you catch your breath and the way your body heats up. He lets out one more heavy breath. 

“Because I like you,” he admits. There are little butterflies fluttering in your stomach which suddenly feels heavy. “I like you,” he repeats, leaning in towards you. It takes a lot more than you thought it would to bring your hand to his chest and pause him.

“Are you drunk?” you whisper, smelling a slight burn of alcohol on his breath. You try not to lift your eyes up to his, afraid that if he’s actually looking at you like you think he’s looking at you, with hooded eyes covered in a lusty mist, then you’re going to cave.

“Only a little,” he whispers back to you. He leans in just slightly, testing the pressure of your palm against his chest, but you manage to hold it steady, keeping him at bay even if it’s only by inches.

“Try telling me that when you’re sober,” you tell him and step back away from him. You turn on your heel and start walking away before you can convince yourself to do otherwise. 

—

It takes him another two days before he approaches you again. It’s Friday and you’ve just let your class out. You’re organizing the last of your papers when you see him leaning in the doorway. His eyes flitter around the room. 

“Hey,” you greet him. He just stands there silent for a little too long. “Do you… need something?” you try to prompt. His eyes suddenly stare at you directly, as if he’s decided something.

Bobby strides across the room, putting his hands on your waist, and leaning down to kiss you. You don’t stop him this time. His lips crash down onto yours and it isn’t until right then that you realize how much you liked and missed kissing him, how much you wanted it. You let a small moan slip from your lips when his hands curve around your ass.

“Stone cold sober,” he whispers against your lips. He turns you so your back is to your desk and walks you back until the edge hits your thighs.

“Thought I was a kid,” you tease him. He squeezes your ass and grinds against your pelvis.

“You’re not.” His lips start to kiss down your neck and nip at your skin. “My place?” he offers. You grin and grind back against him.

“You going to leave me alone with a bad note and no coffee again?” you chuckle. He returns the sound in your ear before running his tongue along the shell. 

“Not this time,” he promises before pulling away, giving you a surprisingly sexy smirk. “But don’t expect to get any sleep.”


End file.
